Life Of Death - Excerpt

PEOPLE, IN AMERICA, when they read this, will automatically call for its destruction. To them, I twill be an object of the utmost evil, an outright pack of lies, some sickly piece of insanity thrown together by some psycho nigger. Well, I hope they thinking that way-and besides, what's more, I really don't give a damn one way or the other what they think of it. I've had it with those pricks anyhow. The only reason why those sons-of-bitches would call it a piece, call it outlandish and improbable is because its true, every last bit of it; even the lies here and there have a hell of a lot more truth than the truths because whatever happens to be a lie on my part is the truth to so many others like me who have been laughed right out of society because "they couldn't fit". A likely story. It happens every time. This is all part and parcel of the cancer and the sickness of the nation at large, but at best it is merely an extension. Nevertheless I have done my best to piece together the fragments of this vicious past; but in doing so I came to the likely conclusion that there is no piecing together into any coherent whole any life, or any previous life, which does not make any good sense whatsoever. Things hover in the air, hang together flimsily, but all is fragmented and incoherent and nothing comes together. What we feel is a cut away from what we think; and what we think is cut away from what we say, and so on. This is what is known as chaos, and this is why the book is as crazy and fucked-up as it is. People who calls this a piece of "lunacy" are merely covering up for the fact that they are just as much a part of that "lunacy" as all the people in America and elsewhere that I have known and the streets that I have walked.